The brook was deep for its size, and had a good deal to say in a solemn tone for such a small stream.

We lay on the side of the hillock, I say, and Turkey's Jews' harp mingled its sounds with those of the brook.

After a while he laid it aside, and we were both silent for a time.
At length Turkey spoke.
"You've seen my mother, Ranald." "Yes, Turkey." "She's all I've got to look after." "I haven't got any mother to look after, Turkey." "No.

You've a father to look after you.

I must do it, you know.